


I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, dark&twisty, some parts might be trigger-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clyde Easter & Emily Prentiss through the years </p><p>Unlike last night, there's not a trace of make up on her flawless face. The mischievous smirk on her lips enough proof that, unlike him, she knew all along who he was. The girl he spend the night with was Emily Prentiss, the ambassador's daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you goes to my beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

**I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**Prolog**

_._

It's a stormy night in the middle of December. The old mansion still and cold and empty, except for the three year old boy walking down a dimly lit hallway.

"Mommy," he calls, clutching a stuffed animal against his pyjama. His blonde hair is tousled, tears staining his cheeks. The images of his recent nightmare still haunting him. "Mommy," he calls again, before he pushes the door to his parents' bedroom open.

The room is dark, but the light from the hall is enough for the boy to see that the sheets on the bed are neatly folded. Untouched by its owner. "Mummy?" the boy whimpers, fresh tears starting to spill down his cheeks. But there's no answer. Just the creaking of the floorboards under his feet and-

The boy squints his eyes. There's another sound. The sound of dripping water. He steps forward and further into the room, his teddy bear pressed closely against his chest. When he opens the door to the bathroom he is greeted with a loud squeak from the hinges and a bright light. He blinks and when his sight grows clearer, he sees the puddle of water on the floor next to the tub, drops still falling from the rim.

He steps closer, the tiles under his feet freezing. There's a smell of roses and rust coating the air, an odd mixture that makes his nose crinkle in disgust.

"Mummy?" the boy calls out once more while he makes his way over to the tub. He's scared and alone and he just wants his Mummy to sing him back to sleep. He's still thinking about his nightmare. Still thinking about the loud voices, the screaming and yelling. About someone whispering _I love you, darling_  inside his ear.

The boy has to step on tip toes so he can look inside the tub. His bear hits the floor with a thud when he bends forward, his fingers so tight around the rim it hurts. The boy becomes quiet, the tears frozen on his chubby cheeks. His pale blue eyes growing wide as he looks down at the angel floating in the crimson water.

.

Of course it wasn't an angel.

It was his mother, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo. Her soaked nightgown imitating wings.

Clyde Easter doesn't remember how long he's been there staring at his dead mother. He doesn't remember who found him, doesn't remember what happened afterwards.

What he remembers is wearing a suit, holding a red rose in his hand. The thorns stinging his fingers. And he remembers his father, staring off into the distance with a grim expression on his face, telling him to quit crying.

.

There's a woman, Dorothea. A sweet elderly woman who eats breakfast and lunch and dinner with him. And there's Audrey, a young girl with blonde hair and a heart-warming smile that takes him to the park and plays hide and seek with him.

There's Henry, his driver, taking Audrey and him to church every Sunday. And there are Carol and Thea, their housekeeper and their cook. Paul working the gardens and Winston looking after the horses.

They're all kind and nice and never yell or punish him, but they never say _I love you, darling,_  either. They're just working for his father after all.

The room at the end of the hall is locked. The number one rule to not even go near that door. Clyde never even dares to try.

He only sees his father for special occasions. Christmas, birthdays or some official events his father needs to pretend to actually be a father to make a good impression. Clyde always tries his best to please his father but deep down knows that no matter what he'll try he never will.

When Clyde turns six, his father tells Audrey to pack a suitcase. They drive for hours, just his father and him. Clyde spots the impressive building from afar, wonders if it's a castle. Wonders if they're going on vacation.

But it's not a castle and they aren't going on vacation. It's a boarding school.

His father tells him it's for the best, but Clyde knows that his father just can't stand the sight of him. That with his blonde hair and his pale blue eyes he looks too much like his dead mother and that his father just wants him as far away from London as possible.

Clyde watches as his father drives away without looking back, feeling utterly alone.

.

He's top of his class from day one. He's a smart boy, quiet and polite. Teachers' favorite and he just knows how to get what he wants. Money isn't an issue, never has been and if he wants to have something he just goes and takes it.

By the time he turns fourteen he's the one ruling the school grounds. The one everyone comes to, no matter what they want or need. He's also the one who gets to choose his girl first at every dance the school stages and Clyde makes a habit out of seducing every single one of them. When he turns seventeen he has not only a place at Cambridge for certain, but the reputation of a player.

Sometimes Clyde wonders what his father would say if he knew how alike they were. Wonders if he would finally be proud or if he would be just as ashamed and disgusted as his mother surely would have been. Sometimes Clyde hates himself just as much as his father does.

He only thinks about his mother when he's alone, curled up like a little boy under the sheets watching the shadows against the wall. He still remembers her smile and her soft voice whispering  _I love you, darling_ into his ear. He remembers that she used to read him stories every night, remembers that she played with him all day long. Just him and her. His father always away on some business trip. Only today Clyde knows that his father hadn't just been away for work.

Sometimes he allows himself to think about the night he found his mother. Questions what really happened. Knows that there were only two options and neither of them much appealing. Either his mother hadn't loved him enough to keep living at his father's side or she hadn't been the one slitting her wrists in the first place.

If Clyde had to choose he would prefer the latter. It is easier to live with the fact that his father was a murderer than to think that not even his own mother loved him.

.

Clyde is still top of his class when he enrols in Cambridge. He's eighteen and the access to drugs and alcohol and girls much easier, and maybe because of that, less exciting.

Most nights he spends alone in his car, keeps driving for hours with nowhere to go. He starts thinking about his mother more and more often, starts wondering why his father still lives in that house. If it's guilt or victory that makes him keep his mother's ghost locked up in the room at the end of the hall.

.

Clyde is nineteen and back home for Christmas. Once again only because his father needs him to make a good impression at his annual Christmas party. But this time it's worse, this time there's a woman too. A woman with a sparkling diamond on her finger, a ring Clyde knows had been his mothers.

Instead of throwing a tantrum he drinks until his voice gets slurred and his father tells him to get out of his sight. Clyde does, walks up the stairs and down the hallway to the room where his mother has died. Picking the lock much easier than he thought it would be.

When he stumbles inside it's dark and cold, the air stale. Thick layers of dust on the bed and the drawers. The curtains are closed, no light coming through the heavy cotton. The smell of roses and rust overwhelming. When he staggers into the bathroom, he's not prepared for what he finds.

There's a stuffed animal lying in front of the tub, a brown teddy bear, his fur full of dust. The white tiles are stained with dirty smears of brown red as well as the whole tub. A rusted scissor lies at the bottom, strands of blonde hair caught in the drain.

For a second he just stares, but a moment later he's bend over the sink. His hands clutched around the rim, tears streaming from his eyes as he starts to vomit.

When his father finds him, God knows how many hours later, he's sitting on the floor with his back against the tub. His old teddy clutched against his chest. His suit ruined.

"Did you kill her?" Clyde asks. His voice raspy, his throat burning like hell. "Did you kill my mother?"

Instead of an answer, his father slaps him hard across the face.

When Clyde wakes up in his own bed the next day the house is empty. The door to the room at the end of the hall firmly locked as if it's never been opened before. His father is gone and so is the skinny woman with his mother's ring on her finger.

In front of the house in the snowy driveway Clyde finds a Porsche, all new and black and shiny with a card that reads _Merry Christmas, son._

.

Clyde is twenty one and there are only a couple of months left before graduation. Only a couple of months before he'll join the Royal Marines, ready to fight and die for his country.

He hasn't told his father yet, not because he's afraid to do so, but because he wants to do it at his annual Christmas party. It seems like a great coincidence that this year's party seems to be something special for his father too.

When Clyde arrives in London, his father isn't even there. It's snowing, the house cold and dark and Clyde has to fight the urge to walk right back out. There's Dorothea with a note from his father, saying that he expects Clyde to join him for breakfast the next morning.

Four hours later, he ends up at a party. Mainly because he can't stand the despair lingering in every corner of the house, but also because his college friend Will needs a ride.

He agrees to stay for a beer and a smoke, but before he really knows it it's midnight and when Clyde finally manages to entangle himself from a redhead to leave, he finds his black Porsche buried under a pile of snow. It's snowing, white puffy flakes falling so fast it's dizzying to watch. The streets vanished under a thick blanket of snow and ice and one look is all he needs to know there's no way he'll make it home tonight. With a frustrated groan Clyde turns around to walk back into the house, hoping the redhead hasn't found another guy to entertain her yet. If he was stuck, he could at least enjoy it.

He's halfway up the front steps when he spots the girl leaning with her back against the wall, her short black dress a stark contrast to the faded paint of the brick wall. Her arms and legs are bare despite the freezing cold, her skin so white it almost looks translucent in the dim light from the door. Her black hair is framing her face, falling loosely down her small shoulders. She holds a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, staring off into the night.

"Aren't you cold, darling?"

When she turns her head, there's a smile tugging at her cherry red lips as if she already knew he was watching.

"Should I?" she asks, looking him up and down with eyes so dark Clyde's sure they're black.

"It's freezing," he says matter-of-factly and knows it's the dumbest thing he could have said.

The girl shrugs, her gaze locked with his. A smug expression on her flawless face, as she keeps looking at him.

"Who are you?" she asks. Crooking her head slightly, her dark eyes glistening.

"I'm Clyde," he tells her, his hands stuffed in his pockets against the burning cold. He steps closer, his eyes never leaving her face. "What's your name?"

She seems familiar and Clyde wonders if he already knows her. Mesmerized, he watches as she wets her lips with her tongue before she bends forward, close and closer, until he can feel them brush against his ear.

"Emily," she breathes. "My name is Emily."

  
  


_._

* * *

**.**

**.**


	2. Part I

**I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)**

**.**

**.**

**Part I**

* * *

**_._ **

**Past**

**.**

It's almost eight when he gets home. His father standing in the front hall, his arms crossed in front of his chest with a disapproving look.

"I'm ready in ten," Clyde tells him as he hurries past up the steps.

The car ride to the restaurant seems endless. London still buried under a thick blanket of snow and ice.

"Remember that this is important, Clyde. I expect you to make a good impression." His father keeps telling him and Clyde fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"Why do you need me anyway?" he asks. Wishing he could be somewhere else.

"I need you to occupy the amabassador's daughter. But don't do anything foolish, the girl is only sixteen."

"You need me to babysit?"

"She's a straight A student and fluent in five languages. She doesn't need a babysitter, Clyde. Just show her around, so I can talk to her mother."

When they finally enter the restaurant they're almost half an hour late. His father's face is grim. His whole body tense. Clyde wonders what this is really about.

"They're already here," his father mutters. Clyde keeps a polite smile on his face as he follows him through the room.

"I'm so sorry Elizabeth," his father apologizes as he makes his way toward the dark haired woman at the table next to the window. "Traffic is even worse in this weather."

Clyde watches his father bend down to give the woman a brief kiss, his hand at the small of her back and just like that he understands. His father plans to marry. Again.

Clyde's just about to make a sharp comment when the sight of the girl next to the ambassador makes him stop dead in his tracks.

_Emily._

She changed her skimpy black dress for a pristine white one. Her dark hair is framing her face in curls, making her look like an inoccent little girl. Unlike last night, there's not a trace of make up on her flawless face. The mischievous smirk on her lips enough proof that, _unlike him_ , she knew all along who he was.

_Bloody hell._

The girl he spend the night with was  _Emily Prentiss,_  the ambassador's daughter.

.

"You should have told me who you are," Clyde starts the second they're out of earshot. His father and Ambassador Prentiss already lost in conversation at their table.

Emily gives him a smug smile, her eyes gleaming dangerously while she allows a waiter to help her into her coat. "You didn't tell me your last name either," she states with a slight shrug.

Clyde shakes his head, angry at himself as he grabs his own coat and follows Emily out of the restaurant. She's right, of course. He hadn't told her his last name and he hadn't asked her age either.

With an angry glare at the dark grey sky, he shoves his hands in his pockets, making his way towards the car when her hand on his arm makes him stop.

"Do you mind if we walk?"

Clyde blinks. "Walk?" he echoes. "In this weather?" It's still snowing, the white turned to dirty mush on the streets and splashed his pants with every step.

Instead of an answer she's already started down the sidewalk. With a sigh Clyde hurries after her.

"Your mother is going to get me locked up," he says matter-of-factly. "And my father is going to kill me as soon as he finds out about last night."

Emily laughs. "Why do you think they would care?"

"Your bloody sixteen," Clyde groans. "I'm twenty-one for Christ's sake! And if that wasn't bad enough already, it looks like your going to be my step-sister!"

"My mother doesn't care," Emily tells him casually, not worried in the slightest. "There's no need to fret."

Clyde says nothing, keeps walking next to her, avoiding any body contact.

"Your father didn't tell you, did he?"

Clyde meets her gaze, realizes they're already at the river. "No, but that's not a surprise. We rarely talk to each other. "

"They didn't tell me either," Emily says, looking out at the water. "I overheard them last summer when he spent a few weeks in Rome with us."

"Overheard, huh," Clyde chuckles.

"In my defense, the walls were pretty thin," she tells him with raised brows, implying that she overheard a lot more than a conversation.

He makes a face, trying to shake the image. "Must have been a horrible summer," he murmurs.

Emily nods, her hands closing around the railing of the bridge. Something dark flashes over her face, it's brief, but he's seen it. She looks away, stares off into the distance.

"You have no idea," she says and Clyde's sure she's not talking about their parents any longer.

For a while they're both quiet, looking out at the Thames. It's still snowing, getting colder by the minute.

"We should get inside," he tells her, pointing down the street. "There's a cafe-"

"I could warm you up."

Clyde turns his head to her, not sure if he heard her right. But the way she looks at him makes clear that he has. He takes a step back and than another, shaking his head. A nervous laugh escapes him.

Emily stays quiet, her dark eyes flashing with life. Dangerous and promising. Patiently waiting for his next move. Snowflakes settling on her dark hair and melting on her eyelashes.

He knows he should do something, but he doesn't. Instead he watches as she closes the gap between them. Watches as she bends forward. Closer, until her warm lips brush against his. Just like she did the night before.

"Just a kiss," she whispers. Her voice filled with longing. "Just one more."

He wants to, wants to kiss her back so badly it hurts. But he knows he can't. Knows he shouldn't. And yet he's already falling, his resolve crumbling. But what did it matter anyway? He'd already slept with her.

Before he can change his mind he reaches with one hand for her waist to pull her even closer against his chest, with the other hand he cups the side of her face gently.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispers hoarsely, searching her eyes for any doubt. The scent of her perfume making his head spin.

Instead of an actual answer, Emily bends to kiss him.

.

"You don't spend a lot of time here, do you?"

Clyde looks up from his place on the bed. Emily is standing in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Her eyes fixed on the bare walls.

"No," Clyde answers. Pushing himself up on his elbows. "I spend most of my life at private schools. This is more like a guest room to me."

She nods absently and Clyde watches as she steps up to the window. Her cheeks are still flushed, her eyes filled with a warm glow that seems to turn the dark into a soft hazle.

"I know what you mean," she answers. Her eyes lost somewhere in the distance.

"Is it true that you're fluent in five languages?"

Emily turns around. "Seven, actually."

"That's impressive."

"No," she shakes her head. "It's not. I just get bored quickly."

Clyde watches as she settles back down on the bed, resting her head on the pillow next to him.

"Why do you want to join the Royal Marines?"

Clyde frowns. "Who told you that?"

Emily gives him a smug smile, her fingers reaching for his face. "I know a lot of things," she whispers, pushing away a strand of his blonde hair.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?" Clyde raises a brow, watching her fingers trail down the side of his face and over his throat to his bare chest.

"Dying," she whispers. Her small hand resting right over his heart. There's something in her eyes he can't place. It's not just a question, the reason she's asking is not just curiosity. It's something else.

"I'm not," he tells her. "Sooner or later we all die. There's nothing we can do to prevent it."

"Most people would tell you otherwise."

"I'm not most people."

She chuckles and he watches her bend closer until her lips almost meet his. All he wants to do is kiss her again.

"Are you afraid?" he asks her instead, his hands reaching up to cup her face. "Are you afraid of dying, Emily?"

"No," she breathes. "I'm not most people either."

.

* * *

**Present**

**.**

When Clyde Easter steps out of his car angry clouds loom on the horizon and make the old mansion in front of him look even more intimidating than it would on a cloudless day.

Before he's up the marble steps a young woman, tall and blonde and beautiful, opens the big wooden door. Clyde raises a brow. "You're new," he states, eyeing her up and down out of habit.

The woman blushes. "Yes, Sir."

For a second Clyde thinks about lecturing her to not call him _that_ , but he was already late for a meeting at the Interpol office and just wanted to get this over with. "Is my father in his study?" he asks the woman instead, already pushing past her into the hall.

The blonde nods and reaches for his jacket, but Clyde just shakes his head already moving down the dark hallway. He would be gone in less than ten minutes anyway.

He finds his father sitting behind his desk, lost in some papers. A glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. His face grim. The heavy curtains behind him are drawn shut, the only light coming from the fireplace. The whole room filled with shadows.

"What was so important that I had to come here in person?" Clyde asks, not bothering with some sort of greeting. He leans back against a bookshelf, his arms casually crossed in front of his chest. Waiting for the inevitable blow.

"Elizabeth called me," his father starts, not even looking up. "She told me about you and Emily."

Briefly Clyde wonders if it was worth the effort to pretend he didn't know what his father was talking about. But he'd avoided this conversation for months and he was tired of lying. Yet, he had no intention of talking about it.

"It's none of your business," he answers. " Elizabeth's either."

This time his father does look up. His gaze hard and firm, his expression impossible to read.

"That's just what Emily said when Elizabeth asked her."

Clyde smirks.

"Who told her?"

"Someone at the office. Does it matter?"

"It will matter to the person losing their job for talking about my private life against my orders."

His father scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Clyde. Why didn't you tell me? We were having dinner last month, you said she was working."

Clyde shakes his head. "Forgive me, father, but you're the last person I'm going to discuss my marriage with."

"Is she filing for divorce?"

Clyde watches his father lean back in his chair. Bitterness written all over his face. And Clyde wonders why he even bothered to come.

"So she's filing for divorce then," his father continues, not even waiting for Clyde's answer. "If you'd talked to me before marrying her, there would have been a prenup ten years ago. Now we can only hope she's not trying to- "

"No one is filing for divorce," Clyde interrupts. Meeting his father's gaze across the room and making clear that the conversation was over. "Believe it or not, Emily isn't like Elizabeth or any other ex-wife of yours. And since this isn't any of your business, I expect you to stay out of it!"

"Clyde, I know we made many mistakes but-"

Clyde gives his father a harsh laugh. "No father," he glares. "You only made one. And so did Elizabeth. Some people just shouldn't procreate."

He doesn't wait for his father's reply before he leaves. Crossing paths with the blonde on his way out and wondering if she would end up as wife number six.

The front door falls shut behind him. He crosses the gravel path back to his car. It's gone dark, heavy clouds still looming over the horizon, the promise of snow heavy in the air.

He hasn't felt as lonely in years.

.

_"So this is it? You're just running away again?"_

_"I'm not running away."_

_"No?" Clyde leans back against the wall, clutching the glass in his hands so tight he's sure it'll break. "Then please, darling, tell me what exactly you are doing, because to me it looks like you're running away!"_

_Emily says nothing. She looks out of the floor length windows of their penthouse and into the purple sky with an unreadable expression on her pale face. And Clyde knows that's it. It's over._

_"You're leaving me," he says matter-of-factly. Meeting her eyes in the reflection of the window. "At least say it."_

_She doesn't._

_"Yeah," he whispers. "You were always good at that."_

_._

* * *

**.**

**.**


	3. Part II

**I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)**

**.**

**Part II**

* * *

**.**

**Past**

**.**

Clyde's sitting next to his father at the dinner table, unable to tear his gaze away from Emily. _It's ridiculous,_ but he can't stop looking at her.

It's frightening how easily she seems to change. Not only her clothes or her hair, _that for some obscure reason seems to be much brighter in the light of the dining hall,_ no, it's like she becomes someone else entirely in the blink of an eye.

Five hours ago she'd been anything but innocent. Anything but predictable. Now she looks like she walked right out of a nativity play and every move seems practiced. From the way she slices her food in tiny little bits to the way she smiles sweetly back at his father's business partners around her. She's talking to them in different languages without difficulty and has them wrapped around her little finger in no time.

A politician's daughter through and through.

After dessert Clyde makes sure to cause a scene by announcing a little too loudly that he's going out for a smoke, and the disgusted expression on Ambassador Prentiss's face is almost comical.

His father just throws him an annoyed look, and Clyde's sure he'll hear about that later, but he couldn't have cared less.

To his surprise, Emily doesn't even look up from her plate.

.

When Clyde walks back into the foyer ten minutes later, he spots Emily and her mother down the hallway. And even from afar it's clear they're in the middle of an argument.

"Don't you dare to embarrass me like you did in Italy, do I make myself clear?" Ambassador Prentiss's cold stare makes him shudder, but more so the look on Emily's face.

"Of course, mother," Emily seems terrifyingly calm, but her eyes are filled with hatred. Her mother doesn't seem to notice though. She only nods, obviously satisfied with her daughter's answer.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Clyde watches Emily close her eyes in defeat the moment her mother turns to go. As soon as the door to the dining room falls closed, Emily makes her way towards the stairs. Instinctively, Clyde takes a step back, but Emily isn't even looking in his direction.

He knows he shouldn't follow her. Knows it's none of his business, knows he shouldn't even care. But he does.

He just reaches the top of the stairs when she disappears into one of the guestrooms. When he draws closer, he finds the door slightly ajar. He gives it a slight push, only to find the bedroom empty.

"Emily?" he calls softly. "Are you in here?"

When he doesn't get an answer, he makes his way further into the room and notices a dress bag spread out on the bed. He frowns.

It's the sound of running water coming from the bathroom that makes him turn around. The bathroom door isn't fully closed either, the small gap enough to get a look at Emily kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. Taken aback, Clyde takes a step back, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. There's no misunderstanding the situation.

With her hair tightly tied back, she's shoving a finger down her throat to throw up her dinner.

.

It's almost ten; the Christmas party in full swing, and Clyde is trapped in a conversation with one of his father's business partners in the middle of the foyer. He's trying his best to keep a polite expression on his face, but he's not nearly drunk enough to get through a political discussion.

He's nodding his approval to something he hasn't even listened to when he spots Emily watching him from the top of the stairs. There's a smirk playing on her lips, and he blinks in surprise. He hasn't seen her since he left the guestroom in a hurry.

"Excuse me," he mutters to his interlocutor, before he pushes past him and up the stairs. Never taking his eyes away from her. She changed her plain, white dress for a short black one, and Clyde assumes it was the one in the dress bag on the bed. She must have planned this all along.

"What happened to the socially acceptable one?" he asks the moment he reaches her, hopes she hadn't seen him standing in the guestroom before.

"I like this one better, don't you?" Emily teases and spins around, the skirt of her dress flaring out in a blur of deep red. When she comes to a halt, she looks up at him from under thick eyelashes, her ebony hair caressing her pale face. Her lips painted a deep red. She looks stunning.

"You can't do that," he mutters, perfectly aware that he's staring. Sure her mother will freak out the second she gets a look at her.

"No?" she bites her lip playfully. "Watch me."

Before he can do anything, she's sauntering down the stairs.

.

"Emily! Emily, wait!" He catches up to her in the doorframe of the dining room. "What are you doing?" he hisses, grabbing her wrist.

"I'm going to make a good impression," she whispers hoarsely; a twisted smile on her face. "Just what my mother wants me to do."

"No," Clyde shakes his head. Without waiting for her to answer, he pulls her with him and further down the hallway.

"Let go of me," Emily snaps. "Damn it, Clyde!"

He doesn't listen. He gently pushes her into his father's study, the first room they come across.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she glares at him angrily as soon as he shuts the door behind them.

"I could ask you the same, darling."

"Why do you care?"

"Who said I do?" Clyde crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe I just don't want you to vomit all over my suit."

"I'm not drunk."

"I know."

She stares back at him and suddenly her eyes go wide.

"You saw me," she states.

"I saw you with your mother-"

"And then you followed me."

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Why?" she asks, her voice laced with bitterness. "You'll be gone in a couple of months, and I'll be the one stuck here playing happy family."

Clyde shrugs, leans back against the door. "I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. My father's marriages never last."

"You should change," he adds and points at her dress. "I'm sure your mother won't approve of it the same way I do."

Emily shakes her head as if she can't believe he's being serious.

"I appreciate your concern," she tells him and walks toward the door. "But I can look after myself just fine."

Impressed by her poise, Clyde feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "You're full of surprises aren't you, darling?"

Emily bends forward; her lips close against his ear, when she whispers:

"You have no idea."

**.**

* * *

**Present**

**.**

When Emily calls him for the first time since she left London, she's furious.

"What deal did you make with that woman?" she snaps the second he answers his phone. "She's even worse than my mother!"

Clyde frowns. "Slow down, darling-"

"Don't 'darling' me! Just tell me what the _fuck_ you did!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Clyde tells her truthfully before he slips out of his bed.

"Do you expect me to buy that?" Emily scoffs. "You must have offered Strauss some sort of deal, otherwise she wouldn't have threatened me like that!"

"What did she say?"

"That I'm going to lose my job if I refuse to spy on the team for her!"

Clyde almost laughs. "Well that's funny, darling, Erin Strauss has no authority to decide something like that."

"She didn't put you on the team, Em," he informs her while he walks down the stairs to the living room. "She had no say in it, she just got the order to do it."

"Are you telling me that she doesn't know about the CIA? About Interpol?"

"She believes the same thing everyone else does, that you came from a desk job, that you always wanted to join the BAU. I guess that's the reason she thought you would do it. It fits the background we made up for you."

"She said my file says I'm reckless."

Clyde pinches the bridge of his nose. _Of course._ Now her anger made sense.

"It doesn't," he tells her. "She lied to get to you, and it obviously worked."

"What am I supposed to do now? They're already suspicious of me anyway."

"Use it," Clyde answers. "Quit."

"It will earn you the trust of the team," he explains while he opens the fridge to get a bottle of water. "And you can prove yourself worthy of being a part of their unit."

"You think they'll figure out what she wanted me to do and take me back with open arms?" Emily sounds doubtful. "You haven't met them. That's not going to work."

"Just do it, Emily," Clyde walks over to the windows. "I'll take care of the rest." He looks out into the night, wishes he could tell her to come back home again. Wishes he could tell her how much-

"Emily, I-"

Before he can make up his mind, she has already hung up.

.

_"But I don't want to stay here. I want to go home."_

_"This is your home now, Declan."_

_Clyde watches the boy shake his head, his small hand holding on to Emily's._

_"No, I want to stay with you, Lauren!" He's crying. His face all red and puffy, his nose running. "I don't want to stay here, I don't want to."_

_Even in the dim light of the hallway, the pain is visible in Emily's eyes._

_"You have to," she tells Declan. "But it'll be alright. I promise, it'll be alright."_

_The boy shakes his head. "No," he cries. "You're lying."_

_"Declan-" Emily tries again, but the boy tears his hand away._

_"You're a liar!" he screams. "I hate you!" With that he turns, running up the stairs. He is closely followed by Tom, who looks just as helpless as Clyde feels._

_"Declan-" Emily makes a step forward, but this time Clyde stops her with his hand around her forearm._

_"I think we should go," he states. His grip gentle, but firm. "This isn't helping anyone."_

_Emily stays quiet; she doesn't even turn around to look at him. Clyde can't shake the feeling that there's no going back from this._

**.**

* * *

**Past**

**.**

To be on the safe side, Clyde waits a couple of minutes before he follows Emily back to the dining room. There was no need to draw more attention than necessary. If somebody had seen them together, there would be enough talking anyway.

In the foyer he meets his father, and Clyde knows he's furious as soon as he gets a look at his face.

"Have you seen Emily?"

"No," Clyde tries to keep his voice even. "Why? Did something happen?"

"Elizabeth and I want to make an announcement, but we can't find her."

Clyde shrugs. "She must be somewhere, right? Have you looked everywhere?"

"Of course we did. What do you-" his father is cut off by one of the staff. They're talking to quietly for Clyde to understand, but a second later his father grabs him roughly.

"Where is your car?"

Clyde frowns, fighting the urge to push his father away. Knows he can't do it in a house filled with people. "In the driveway, of course. Why are you asking?"

"Your car isn't in the driveway."

"Of course it-" Clyde stops. Reaches for his car keys in his jacket pocket.

They're gone.

.

The call comes an hour later, and Clyde fears the worst. Not only for Emily, but also for his car. Even if, by some miracle, she actually could drive a car, she surely couldn't drive on the left. Not to mention in this weather.

The ride to the police station is quiet. The expression on his father's face speaks volumes, while Emily's mother shows no emotion at all. And Clyde can't decide if he should be mad or impressed that Emily tricked him like that. Maybe both.

When they arrive, a police officer is already waiting for them. "Ambassador Prentiss, we're really sorry for this, she didn't tell us her name until we got here. We would never have brought her to the station if we'd known-" The officer keeps rambling on, while Clyde follows them into the station, wondering if the poor guy would keep his job.

"Give me your jacket," his father tells him abruptly, and Clyde doesn't understand until he spots Emily. She's leaning against the wall, a bored expression on her face and wearing nothing but the skimpy little dress from before. To Clyde's amazement, she looks just as flawless as ever, not a single hair out of place. Maybe she didn't crash his car after all.

"Your jacket, Clyde!"

Clyde slips out of the rich fabric and watches his father drape it around Emily's shoulders a moment later. He tells her something that makes Emily roll her eyes, before she reluctantly pulls the jacket close around her body.

"You really are full of surprises, aren't you?" he teases the moment his father is out of earshot. Talking with her mother to the police officer.

"I told you." There's something in Emily's voice he can't decipher. It's neither fear nor regret.

"I figure you ruined my car, right?"

"A car like that?" Emily raises her brow. "Do you think I'm that ignorant?"

Before Clyde can answer, Ambassador Prentiss steps forward.

"Emily. We're leaving."

Clyde follows her with his eyes, while his father stops next to him. "In the future, I suggest you keep a better eye on your car," he snaps and shoves the keys into Clyde's hand. "According to the officer, there's not a single scratch on it."

Clyde smirks, unable to hide his amusement any longer _. Of course she could drive a car._ He should have known.

"You were right, father. She doesn't need a babysitter. She can take care of herself just fine."

His father gives him an angry glare, but Clyde doesn't care. He's looking after Emily, watches her mother usher her towards the door. Before Emily slips out into the night, she turns back one last time, a devilish smirk playing on her angelic face when her dark eyes meet his.

And despite his best intentions, Clyde knows she already has him falling for her.

**.**

* * *

**Present**

**.**

He's waiting for her in the underground parking garage, hiding in the shadows out of habit. Leaning against the wall next to her car with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He'd been on his way back home from Paris when he heard about Colorado. It was a split second decision to come, and now that he was here, he wasn't sure if it was such a good idea. He hadn't talked to her since she called him about Erin Strauss, wasn't sure if she wanted to see him at all.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, Clyde looks up. He spots Emily in the distance, slowly making her way towards her car. She's not alone, but with one of her team members. The one who looks like a high school kid, _the one she almost died for._

"You sure you don't want me to drive you-"

"I'm fine, Reid. I promise."

"But-"

"It's alright, Reid. Really."

The boy only nods before he finally disappears in another direction. Clyde watches her face falter the second he's out of sight. Biting down on her lower lip to fight the pain, one hand reaching for the nearest wall to keep herself from falling over.

"You call that fine?" Clyde snaps and steps forward.

Emily looks up startled, but she doesn't seem to be surprised. She looks relieved.

"I knew you would come," she states. Allows him to steady her with his arm around her waist.

"Please tell me someone had the sense to take you to a hospital," Clyde murmurs, realizing that up close the bruises look even worse.

"I'm fine," Emily tells him, stubborn as ever, and then again a little more determined. "I'm fine."

Clyde says nothing, knows there's no point fighting her. He withdraws her car keys from her jacket pocket with one hand while supporting her body with the other. Enjoys the way she's leaning into him without hesitation.

"You offered yourself to spare the boy, didn't you?" He asks her the moment they're both seated in her car, she in the passenger's seat, and he behind the wheel.

"Who told you?" she murmurs, nervously picking at her fingernails.

"Do you really think I need someone else to tell me that?" he feels the anger rise in his chest.

"He couldn't have handled it-"

"But you could? Have you taken a look in the mirror?" Clyde grabs the steering wheel a little tighter. "He's the one with the drug problem, isn't he?"

Emily whirls around. "How do you know about that?"

"I took care of Erin Strauss, didn't I? Of course I wanted to know why she asked you to spy on your team in the first place."

"You told her-"

"She didn't bother you again, did she?"

"But she knows."

"Only what was necessary."

"It was your fault in the first place. If you hadn't made up such a ridiculous back story-"

"Bloody hell, Em!" Clyde snaps. "Why do you think I did that? To annoy you? No! I did it because I _bloody_ love you! Because I never wanted you to leave in the first place!"

He gets out of her car, throws the door shut behind him before he takes a few steps into the dark. Even after a lifetime together, she could drive him crazy in the blink of an eye. He stops, takes a deep breath before he walks back.

"I'm sorry," he says when he slips back into the drivers seat. "I'm just-"

"I know," Emily whispers and reaches for his hand. "Me too."

.

_"They want more on Doyle. It's not enough."_

_Clyde leans back against the closed door of his office. His eyes on Emily who's standing only a few feet away from him near the windows. She looks pale, even more than usual. Tired, with dark circles under her eyes, and it pains him to see her like this._

_"I already gave them everything I know," she says, and Clyde watches as she pushes a strand of dark hair out of her face. Even from his position at the door he can see her fingers trembling._

_"You're hiding something."_

_"I'm not hiding anything," she answers and this time she sounds angry. It happens fast, but he still catches a quick glimpse of it towards the en-suite bathroom._

_He's next to her in two strides, his hand reaching for her right. She tries to pull away, but he's faster and has already revealed the hairpins hidden in her fist._

_"I thought you stopped doing that," he says. His hand still around hers._

_"I did," she answers, and when he looks up to meet her eyes he catches the scent of mint on her breath. Her dark eyes glisten dangerously in the dim light as if challenging him to say it out loud. It takes all his self-control to not yell at her._

_He lets go of her hand and takes a step back, watches as she turns her eyes back outside._

_"Declan," she tells him after another moment of silence._

_"Declan?" Clyde frowns. "His housekeeper's son? What does he have to do with anything?"_

_"He's not his housekeeper's," Emily whispers. "The boy is Doyle's."_

**.**

* * *

**.**

**.**


	4. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

**I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)**

**.**

**Part III**

* * *

**.**

**Past**

**.**

"Hey, Clyde, one of your girlfriends is waiting for you."

"I don't do girlfriends, Ethan," Clyde murmurs, not looking up from his desk. It's almost noon and he still has a lot of work to do if he ever wants to get the damn paper done.

"If you don't want her, I'm happy to take her out for a ride."

"Which one is it?" Clyde asks, trying to ignore the double meaning of Ethan's words.

"I haven't seen her before. But she looks damn hot. I wouldn't let her wait."

Clyde frowns. The only girl Ethan hadn't seen was…

He's already out of the room and halfway down the stairs a moment later.

When Emily spots him she smiles, her dark eyes glittering in the sunlight that's falling through the windows in the hall. She's wearing a black wool coat over a school uniform, and even from afar, it's obvious that her black skirt is much too short to abide by _any_ school policy.

"You didn't steal my father's car to get here, did you?" he asks when he's close enough for her to hear.

"No," she chuckles. "He lent me his driver all on his own."

"So that means my father asked your mother to move in, right? Your plan didn't work then?"

She frowns. "My plan?" She starts to laugh. "You think I stole your car to stop them from being together?" She shakes her head as if just the thought is completely ridiculous.

"I just wanted to go to a party that night," she explains. "I was driving a little bit too fast apparently; that's why they caught me."

"Why did you let the police take you to the station anyway? You could have told them who you were; they would have brought you straight back to the house. Why make your mother come to the police station to get you herself? Just to piss her off?"

"The officer was cute."

Clyde raises his brows questioningly, but Emily just shrugs.

"Well," she nods. "Wanna guess where my bedroom is?"

Clyde laughs. She's unbelievable. "You had to come here in person to tell me that?"

"No, actually your father wants you to come home for the weekend. He said he couldn't reach you over the phone so I offered my help to deliver the message."

"Free from any selfish motives of course."

"Always. So, what do you say? Are you coming home on Friday?"

"Are you going to rob a bank or set the house on fire? If so, I would really like to know so I can prepare myself." He tries to keep a stern face, but it's not really working.

"Where would be the fun in that?" she muses, her dark eyes bright. "So, you're coming, right?"

Usually he'd say no. He had no interest in spending his free time at home, but now it was her home, too. Before he knows what he's doing, he nods.

"I would kiss you goodbye," she tells him with a smile curving at the side of her mouth. "But the driver is watching us."

"Yeah," Clyde nods. "I know." He'd seen Arthur lingering in the doorframe when he came down the stairs. "My father doesn't trust me."

"It's not you he doesn't trust."

Clyde frowns, but before he has the time to ask her she's already on her way out.

Clyde's still looking after her when Ethan shows up next to him, a goofy grin on his face.

"You don't do girlfriends, huh?"

.

* * *

**.**

**Present**

**.**

It's not a coincidence that he's in Vegas the same night she is.

She's sitting at the hotel bar in a little black dress, with her hair kissing her bare shoulders and a dangerous smile on her bloody red lips that screams for attention. And she has it, Clyde can tell, even from afar.

She's flirting with the bartender and with a dark haired guy sitting next to her, but she's doing it only half-heartedly. At least to him that's obvious.

"Is that what you usually wear to work, darling?" he whispers in her ear, before he signals the guy next to her to back off.

There's a flicker of surprise on her face when she turns around, but it's brief, and of course she's not really surprised to see him.

"Only if they ask me too," she answers, her voice slightly slurred, making him wonder how much bourbon she already had.

"You're going to have the worst hangover in history," he tells her casually, before he reaches for her glass on the counter.

"Isn't that what Vegas is for?" She gives him a flirty laugh. "Getting drunk and-"

"We're married already. In case you forgot."

"Actually I wanted to say getting drunk and getting _laid_."

Her bluntness makes him chuckle. "Does that mean you want to get out of here?"

"No," she whispers, before she slips down from her bar stool and reaches for his hand.

Clyde raises a brow, but leaves her glass on the counter to follow her down a dark corridor anyway. She stops at the end, the only light coming from the EXIT sign above the door. Her eyes filled with lust and hunger, her fingers already reaching for his belt.

"Aren't you worried that somebody might see us?" Clyde wonders out loud. Pushing her back up against the wall the moment he's sure there aren't any hidden cameras. "One of your team maybe?"

"No," she murmurs, and pulls him between her legs with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "Not right now." He feels her hands slip in between their bodies, her fingers working his zipper with ease.

"You're going to get us arrested," he tells her hoarsely, knows it's worth the risk anyway.

"We never got caught before," she purrs against his lips. "And what happens in Vegas…"

.

_The pub Clyde's waiting for her in is dark and shabby, filled with drunks and too much smoke._

_He's leaning casually against the counter with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His blonde hair hidden under a wool cap. His trademark leather jacket swapped for a bright yellow raincoat. He looks ridiculous, but he's blending right in._

_He spots her the second she comes through the door, and he has a hard time keeping himself from laughing. The whole soccer-mom look was beyond funny._

_He leaves his beer on the counter while he heads for the bathroom, waits in the dimly lit hallway until she turns the corner. Grabs her hand and pulls her with him into the storage room._

_"You look ridiculous," he chuckles, as soon as the door falls shut behind them. Emily smirks, her eyes traveling up and down._

_"You're one to talk."_

_"Touché."_

_"Why did you want me to come anyway? Did something happen?"_

_Clyde sighs, reaching forward to brush a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "It's taking too long," he starts tentatively. "We need to get you out."_

_"Now? But-"_

_"It's not open for a discussion. I'm only here to let you know."_

_"You already made the decision?" She stares at him disbelievingly. "Don't you think I should have a say in this, too?"_

_"No."_

_She pulls away from him, crossing her arms in front of her chest._

_"Give me at least a few weeks."_

_Clyde shakes his head. "It's been almost a year already."_

_"A month."_

_"No."_

_He watches her bite her lip. Something's wrong, even though he can't tell what it is._

_"Two weeks." She tries again. "Please."_

_"Why?"_

_"He asked me to marry him."_

_Clyde frowns._

_"How come we don't know about this?"_

_He watches her close her eyes. "It's complicated-" she starts, stops, and looks back up at him. "Just give me more time."_

_She takes a step towards him and then another. Her dark eyes glistening dangerously in the dim light._

_"I don't like this," he tells her, reaching for her waist and pulling her close. "I want you back."_

_"Soon," she whispers, bending forward. Her lips only inches from his. "Trust me."_

.

* * *

**.**

**Past**

**.**

When he comes home on Friday he finds the house empty. Even the staff seems to have taken the day off. Obviously a change of plans. Of course nobody bothered calling him.

Annoyed with himself and the whole world in particular, Clyde leaves his bag and his coat in the hallway, wondering if Thea had a few leftovers in the fridge, when he catches the faint sound of music coming from the first floor.

He finds Emily in the room next to his, standing on a ladder, painting the wall. She must have been working on it for quite some time, because half the room's already painted black. She's wearing a plaid shirt over black leggings, her hair bound together in a ponytail. Some of the paint dripping down on her forearms.

"Does my father know about this?"

He planned to startle her, but she doesn't even blink. She must have heard him come up the stairs.

"No," she tells him casually, not even turning around. "It's my room, isn't it?"

Clyde shakes his head, watching her with growing amazement.

"He's going to freak out, darling. I wasn't even allowed to pin posters on the walls when I was your age."

"Want to bet?" She gives him a quick look over her shoulder, before reaching for the paint brush again.

"Why do I get the feeling that I would lose?"

She chuckles. "Probably because you would."

"Where is everyone anyway?" Clyde asks. "Didn't you tell me my father wanted me home for the weekend?"

Emily nods. "He did. He wanted you to come Saturday morning."

Clyde frowns. "You said-"

"I know." She turns, and flashes him a flirty smile. "But I wanted you all for myself."

.

They end up in the kitchen, Emily sitting on the counter with a bottle of bourbon in her hand and Clyde leaning against the table, eating some leftovers from the fridge.

"How was your week?" Clyde asks, eying her carefully from out of the corner of his eye.

"My week?" Emily echoes, her voice filled with laughter. "Do you really care about that?" She takes another long swig from the bottle. "You want some?" she asks, handing him the bottle.

He doesn't, but he takes it anyway. She's had more than enough already. She slips down from the counter, sauntering out of the kitchen.

"You play too, don't you?" she asks, when he finds her in the living room a little while later, pointing at the Steinway. Instead of waiting for an answer, she's already opened the lid, her fingers touching the keys softly. A familiar melody starts to fill the wide room with sound.

He watches her for a long time before he walks over, sitting down next to her. She gives him a quick side-glance, a smile playing on her lips and her dark eyes shining like he hasn't seen them before. It's the only invitation he needs.

They play together, Emily the low notes on the left and Clyde the high ones on the right.

He hasn't played for a while, and he realizes just how much he missed it. The familiar feeling of his fingers on the smooth keys, his own face reflected in the black polished wood.

"You're good," she whispers hoarsely.

"My mother taught me," he tells her, before he can stop himself. "After her death I wasn't allowed to play again. But my nanny let me anyway whenever my father wasn't around, which was quite a lot. She even arranged piano lessons in secret and paid for them herself. The first time my father heard me play was on one of his famous Christmas parties. He was furious. He stopped talking to me for almost a year."

"Because you played the piano?"

"No, because I dared to remind him of my mother."

Emily gets quiet. Awfully quiet. She draws back her hands as if she's been burned.

"My father offered to let you to play on it, didn't he." It's not a question. He already figured it out.

"I'm sorry," Emily whispers. "I didn't know, I-"

"I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest." He cuts her off midsentence. His fingers stilled on the keys. "You have my father wrapped around your little finger. It's obvious. I need to know-" He stops, not sure how to say it. "I need to know if he, if he ever tried-"

"No."

He turns his head to look at her.

"It's not what you think," she says. A stern expression on her face.

"Then what is it, Emily? Something's going on between the two of you and…" He takes a breath. "I'm worried."

Clyde isn't sure he can believe her. Would she tell him the truth if it were true? Would he even want to hear it?

"There's no need to be worried."

"Then tell me what's going on."

He watches her get up, crossing her arms in front of her chest protectively. Something has changed.

"He fucked my mothers secretary," she starts. All color drained from her face, all playfulness gone. "I walked in on them and I promised not to tell my mother. That's it."

"What did he do to keep you quiet?"

"Look-" she starts, and takes a few steps further away from him. She looks sick. "I needed money."

Clyde raises a brow. "What would you need money for? No offense, but you're as spoiled as me, you can just-"

"No." She shakes her head, and Clyde watches her reach for the doorframe. "I needed-" She bites her lip, and when she finally meets his gaze again there are tears in her eyes. "Can we please not talk about this? I assure you, the only thing your father wants is to keep me quiet. And as far away from you as possible."

"Why would he want to keep you away from me?" Clyde laughs, shaking his head. "It's the other way around, Emily. He doesn't want me to-"

"No, it's not." She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. "I think I might have had too much to drink. Goodnight, Clyde."

And with that, she's gone.

.

* * *

**.**

**Present**

**.**

It's Emily's number flashing across the screen on his phone that makes Clyde stop midsentence and leave the conference room without an explanation to his team.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asks, the second he takes her call. "What time is it in DC? Three am?"

Emily gives him a soft laugh. "You know exactly what time it is."

"Why aren't you asleep then?" He shuts the door to his office, settles down behind his desk. "Tough case?"

"Yeah, that too."

Her voice sounds hoarse and tired and Clyde hopes it's just a cold, even when his feeling tells him differently.

"What happened, Emily?"

"JJ had her baby; it's a boy."

"Don't tell me you want one of those now," Clyde jokes, even though he doesn't feel like joking. As much as he loves her, kids are out of the question.

Emily chuckles. "Are you scared?"

"I don't know, darling," he takes a breath, tries to stop thinking about Vegas two nights ago.

"Should I be?"

"I didn't change my mind about that, Clyde. But looking at that little boy made me think-"

She stops, and suddenly he realizes what this is really about. He scolds himself for being so thoughtless.

"About Italy," he finish for her, his eyes closed, his voice gentle.

"She wanted me to hold him so she could use the bathroom. It was just a moment, but-" Her voice breaks, and he knows she's fighting back tears.

"There's no reason to feel guilty, Emily. You were fifteen. And alone."

"I know," she whispers. "But it was the first time I held a baby after…" her voice trails off, and he can feel her pain as if it was his own.

"Stop blaming yourself, Emily. It's not going to help."

For a while there's nothing but silence, and he wonders if she already hung up on him.

"Emily?" he asks carefully. "Are you still there, darling?"

"Yeah, listen." He hears her clear her throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I know you have to work; I'm so tired I don't even know why I-"

"Emily," Clyde cuts her off. His voice firm but gentle. "Just lay down. Close your eyes, I'll be right here."

It's all he can do, all he can offer with an ocean between them. At least right now. For a moment it's quiet again, but then he hears the rustle of bed sheets. He leans back in his chair and imagines himself, lying down on the bed next to her.

"I forgot to tell you," she mumbles. "Rossi saw us."

"I warned you. What did he say?"

"Something about me having a secret identity. Funny, how close to home that hits."

"I miss you," she adds a moment later, hear voice barely above a whisper. "I really miss you, Clyde."

He shuts his eyes and keeps listening until her breathing gets even, keeps listening until he's sure she's fallen asleep. He stays on the phone until a persistent knocking on his door brings him back to his office.

"I miss you, too, darling," he murmurs softly, before he finally ends the call.

.

_"Why are you making such a fuss? I can do this, Clyde!"_

_"I don't like it."_

_"But I did it before," Emily states, getting more and more frustrated. "I'm his type. Why look for someone else?"_

_"This isn't like any other case we've had, Emily. Did you even look at his profile?"_

_Emily watches Clyde shake his head; he looks tired. Worn out. She's not sure she's ever seen him like this._

_"If it works out like we hope, you would be living with him for god knows how long. He treats his women badly, Emily. Really badly. You'd have to take it. You wouldn't be able to fight back. No matter what he does."_

_"I can take it," she states calmly and shrugs, realizing her mistake just a little too late._

_"I know," he answers, his blue eyes finding hers. "But I can't."_

_Emily lowers her head. "Just this case," she says, after a pause, reaching for his hand over the table. "Let me do this one case and then I'll go for a leadership position and stop going undercover myself."_

_"Just this case?"_

_Emily nods. Smiles._

_"Just this case."_

**_._ **

* * *

**_._ **

**_._ **


	5. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A BIG special thank you goes to my amazing beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

.

**I Love You, I Love You (And All Of Your Pieces)**

**.**

**Part IV**

**.**

* * *

**.**

**Past**

**.**

The mansion is still silent when Clyde makes his way downstairs the next morning.

He finds Carol and Thea in the kitchen, Carol scrubbing the windows and Thea chopping vegetables. Both women lost in their tasks, discussing the newest rumors from the Royal family.

"It's good to see that nothing has changed," he interrupts with a grin. They turn in unison, their faces lighting up the second they spot him casually leaning in the kitchen doorframe.

"Finally!" Carol announces happily, gesturing at the table. "Sit down, I'll make you some tea and then I want to hear everything you've been up to!"

Clyde chuckles, giving first Carol and then Thea a quick kiss on the cheek, before settling down at the table.

"Where is everyone?" he wonders, while he watches the two women hurry through the kitchen to get his breakfast ready, knows there's no point doing it himself; they wouldn't let him anyway.

"I don't know where the woman went, but the girl locked herself up in her room," Carol informs him as she places a cup of tea in front of him.

"Are you sure?" Thea asks, from where she's standing next to the fridge, her brows raised. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't in there at all."

Clyde takes a sip from his tea, noticing the warning glare Carol throws in Thea's direction. "Emily's done that before?"

Thea nods. "Disappearing is all she does. Can't really blame the poor girl through, the way her mother-"

"Thea!" Carol cuts in sharply, and Clyde makes a mental note to try and talk to Thea alone.

"Eat up," Carol tells him when she finally puts his plate down in front of him. "Your father wants to speak to you."

Clyde stops, his appetite gone in seconds.

"Did he say why?"

Carol shakes her head. "No, just that he's waiting for you in his office."

.

Clyde tries his best to delay the conversation with his father as long as possible. He eats his breakfast in slow motion. When Carol finally realizes what he's doing and throws him out of the kitchen, he keeps lingering in the hallway for another half an hour before he finally makes his way down the hall to his fathers study.

"Sit down," his father tells him sternly, the moment Clyde steps though the door.

"Carol said you wanted to talk to me," he starts, not bothering with formalities and ignoring the chair in front of his father's desk with purpose. Leaning back against the doorframe, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, waiting for his father to put him in his place. To Clyde's surprise, he doesn't.

"I want to talk to you about the wedding."

"What is there to talk about?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?" Clyde echoes disbelievingly. "I thought that's what the staff is here for?"

"The staff can't handle the girl."

This time Clyde can't hide his amusement. "So you changed your mind?" he chuckles. "Now she does need a babysitter after all?"

His father looks thoughtful. Almost worried. "I obviously underestimated her anger, yes."

Clyde shakes his head. That was an understatement. "Despite what you might think, Father, I can't handle her, either."

"But you are here, aren't you?"

Clyde frowns. "You-"

"Yes. I told her to invite you for the weekend because I wanted to see if you'd come. And you did."

Clyde wants to groan in frustration. _Fuck._ He should have known that his father was up to something.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, not even trying to deny the obvious. He watches his father lean back in his chair.

"Just keep an eye on her. Listen closely. Find out if she's planning something and just prevent it from happening. We don't need a scandal."

"Fine."

"Can I trust you with this?" There's a warning in his father's voice, unable to ignore.

Clyde nods. "Of course, Father."

_As if I would ever tell you the truth._

.

Clyde keeps to himself for the rest of the day, sitting in his bedroom over a paper that should have been done days ago.

A part of him wants nothing more than to leave and head back to Cambridge as soon as possible, but another part of him still wants to see how that family dinner's going to play out.

When he finds his way downstairs around eight, his father and Elizabeth are already seated at the table in the dining room. They're formally dressed, his father in a black tailored suit and Emily's mother in a dark blue dress, and Clyde's glad he had the sense to wear at least a clean button down and slacks.

He's about to ask where Emily is, when she comes rushing in through the front door. The smell of horses and the hay stuck in her dark hair indicate that she came from the stables.

"Sorry, I'm late," she announces breathlessly, before sitting down across from him.

"Where have you been?" her mother asks, her voice filled with disapproval. "And what on earth are you wearing?"

"Elizabeth-" his father starts, his hand reaching for Emily's mothers. "Let's just have dinner, alright?"

For a while they do. They're eating in silence, the only sounds coming from the silverware scraping on the plates, and Clyde briefly wonders if that's how family dinners usually go. Not that he would know. If it was, he was almost glad he'd never had to deal with them on a regular basis.

It's Emily who breaks the silence, her words shattering the peaceful illusion immediately.

"When did you plan to tell me about Cheltenham? Before or after the wedding?"

Clyde looks up from his plate in surprise.

"Cheltenham College is a very good school," Elizabeth states without as much as a blink. "I'm sure you'll adjust."

"Your mother is right, Emily," his father cuts in, actually lifting his head to meet Emily's eyes. "It's a privilege to go there. It'll be a great opportunity for you."

If Clyde hadn't known better he'd have said his father actually meant it.

"Right," Emily nods, a look of utter defiance on her face. "Of course."

At first Clyde's sure she'll throw her plate against the wall or something, but then it's like nothing ever happened, leaving Emily as calm as ever while she keeps eating, cutting her food in tiny little pieces before finally putting them into her mouth.

He couldn't imagine her in a school like Cheltenham. _They'll eat her alive._

"Don't you think you've had enough?" It's the disgust in Elizabeth's voice that makes Clyde flinch.

Emily's stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. Clyde expects some snarky comment, but Emily stays silent. There's the hint of a smile on her face right before she shoves her fork into her mouth.

"Emily," her mother warns. And again. "Emily."

But Emily doesn't even blink, if anything, she keeps eating faster. Pushing fork after fork into her mouth in rapid speed until her plate is empty. Before she's even done swallowing she reaches over the table to grab Clyde's plate. He's too stunned to do anything but stare.

"Stop that, Emily! Right now!"

Clyde hears his father mutter something under his breath, something that sounds like _here we go again_ , while Emily sticks her fork into the chocolate cake in the middle of the table, stuffing the dessert into her mouth with a sickly sweet smile on her face. Clyde feels his stomach flip.

Elizabeth gives up first. With a slight shake of her head she gets up and leaves the room.

"Emily," this time it's his father, his voice all calm and soothing. "Emily, please stop doing that."

She doesn't, and Clyde keeps staring in disbelief while Emily keeps eating. It's sickening to watch.

His father lasts another two minutes before he gives up too, leaving the room and heading down the hall, probably back into his office.

"What about you?" Emily asks, the moment his father is out of earshot. "Don't you have anything to say?" She gives him a mocking smile.

Before Clyde really knows what he's doing he reaches across the table, grabbing her hand tightly and forcing her to let go of the fork. It clatters to the carpet with a muffled thud.

"What are you doing?" Emily glares back at him, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp, but only halfheartedly. "Let go, Clyde!"

He doesn't, keeps staring at her instead. She looks calm, but the pain in her eyes gives her away.

_She just wanted someone to stop her._

"I'm sorry," he says, loosening his grip around her wrist, before getting up from the table and fleeing the room. He doesn't look back.

**.**

* * *

**.**

**Present**

**.**

"Where's that bloody report, Anne? You said you put it on my desk but it's not there! Anne!"

When Clyde looks up from his desk he doesn't find his assistant, but Emily standing in the doorway to his office.

"I told Anne to call it a day," Emily states calmly, a smile on her lips and a devilish glow in her eyes while she saunters into the room, locking the door behind her. "I don't think you'll find the time to look at that report tonight anyway."

Clyde chuckles, leaning back in his chair and looking her up and down, pretty sure that she isn't wearing _anything_ under her black coat.

"What happened?" he asks. Knows something did, because even though it hurts him to admit it, she wouldn't be in London otherwise.

He watches her facade fall in seconds.

"We had a case in Atlanta," she starts reluctantly, looking away. "I was supposed to...it wasn't exactly undercover work, but I was supposed to dress up and meet the guy in a club. I didn't need to; Hotch asked me twice if I was fine with it and I thought I was, but...when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was Lauren. And the moment I did, I realized how much I-" she stops herself midsentence, closing her eyes as if ashamed of herself. It takes Clyde a moment to realize that she is.

"You miss her," he finishes her sentence, trying to keep his voice calm even though he's feeling anything but. "It's understandable, Emily. You've been-"

"Stop being so bloody understanding!" she snaps suddenly. Her eyes burn with anger and frustration when she finally meets his eyes again. "I _fucked up,_ Clyde! I _fucked up_ and no matter how far I'll run, it'll always catch up with me!"

Clyde stays quiet, watches as she makes her way through the room, slowly opening her coat, confirming his earlier suspicion.

"I need you to remind me who I am," she states, her gaze never leaving his as she makes her way towards him, reaching for the hem of his shirt as soon as she's close enough.

"I need you to remind me that I'm Emily. I need you to-"

He cuts her off with his lips against hers. After all, he's never been good at denying her anything.

**.**

_"You were bloody convincing tonight, darling."_

_"Was I?" Emily chuckles, offering him a look that makes clear that she knows damn well how good she's been. She'd done the job practically all by herself. Again._

_"Let's celebrate," she murmurs, pulling him closer with her hand around the collar of his shirt. "It's the least I deserve, don't you think?"_

_She pulls him in for a kiss, and even though they're not alone on the jet and her behavior is anything but professional, he lets her._

**.**

* * *

**.**

**Past**

**.**

When she bursts into his bedroom two hours later, he's still sitting over that paper that should have been done days ago.

"Ever heard of knocking-" he snaps, and stops when he gets a look at her.

She's wearing another one of those breathtakingly short dresses, black silk and red velvet, over a pair of fishnet tights. Her long hair is falling straight into her pale face, her makeup perfectly applied, her eyes all big and dark and her lips tinged scarlet. She looks anything but sixteen, and the way she's standing there in the middle of his room, all poised and bloody beautiful, he can't stop thinking about-

"There's an underground party tonight. Do you want to come?"

It takes him a moment to register what she just said and another to catch the dangerous spark in her eyes.

"Underground party." Clyde swallows, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "You're underage, remember?"

"Actually, I'm not, " she states, holding her ID in his direction.

Clyde frowns, getting up from his desk and crossing the room in two strides. "Where did you get this?" he asks, examining the fake ID between her fingers. It was done just right.

Emily gives a slight shrug, pulling back her hand. "You know there's nothing you can't buy. So, are you coming?"

Clyde shakes his head. "No, and you won't go either."

"No?" Emily smirks. "And how do you plan on stopping me?" She looks amused.

"I'm going to go get your mother."

"Good luck with that; she left with your father half an hour ago."

Clyde blinks.

"Well, have fun at home then," Emily adds and turns, making her way towards his door.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you there's an underground party, and I'm going with or without you."

With one last look over her shoulder she saunters out of his room, all confident and tempting, making Clyde curse under his breath. How can a girl not only five years younger than him, but broken beyond repair, make him feel so insecure?

"Emily, wait," he calls before he can think better of it, already reaching for his leather jacket.

**.**

* * *

**.**

**Present**

**.**

He knows she's there the second he steps out of the elevator. The flowery scent lingering in the air, unmistakably hers.

He finds her in the living room, sitting on the floor, with her head against the floor length windows. Her eyes closed, her fingers curled around a photo in her hands.

"Emily," he starts, slipping out of his jacket and leaving it on the couch before crossing the room in heavy strides. Unease growing in his chest.

"Emily?" he tries again, crouching down next to her. "Can you hear me?" He reaches for her hand carefully, afraid he might startle her.

"Matthew," she whispers hoarsely, and he watches her eyelids flutter. "He's dead." She blinks as if it's hard to keep her eyes open, and something just isn't right.

He reaches for her cheek and stops.

"Em, you're running a fever. How long have you been sitting here?" She mumbles something, but it's not making much sense.

"Come on, darling, you need to lie down. Let me help you upstairs." He pushes the sweaty hair out of her face, wondering if there was anything in the medicine cabinet that hadn't expired yet. "Do you think you can get up?"

Emily leans forward to rest her head against his chest. There's something on her blouse and it takes Clyde a moment to realize it's blood.

"Emily," he starts, his hand caressing her cheek. "There's blood on your clothes. Do you know what happened?"

At first she doesn't respond and he's about to ask again, when she starts mumbling, her eyes still closed.

"Nosebleed...need to call...BAU...work..."

"They don't know you're in London?"

She keeps mumbling, something that sounds like a no, but he's not sure. Clyde sighs, frowns. And then it hits him.

_Matthew is dead._

_Matthew. Matthew Bennett. Italy, 1985._

He's startled when he feels Emily's fingers curl around his wrist, her fingertips freezing cold, an odd contrast to her otherwise feverish skin.

"Don't ever leave," she whispers quietly. "Please don't ever leave me."

"I won't," Clyde assures her, pulling her closer into his arms. "I promise, I won't."

.

_She blows her cover in the blink of an eye._

_It's not exactly her fault, even though Emily won't tell Clyde that. After all, it had been she who assured him that Tsia was able to do this._

_She'd been wrong, horribly wrong, and if it hadn't been for Clyde she would be dead._

_There's blood on her dress and her hands and her face. Not hers, but from the guy crumpled on the dirty floor, their target. They were supposed to arrest him, not kill him._

_"Take that," Clyde says, and Emily blinks and frowns at the leather jacket he's holding out for her. It takes her a moment to understand what he wants and by the time she does, Clyde's already put the jacket around her shoulders._

_"Are you hurt?"_

_"No," Emily rasps, her throat dry, burning. "You came just in time."_

**.**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**Author's Note:**

> Title was taken from Andrew Belle's "Pieces".


End file.
